


The Rivers of Your Palms

by estas_absentis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bottom Remus Lupin, Breathplay, Dirty Talk, Emotional Sex, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Slapping, Top Sirius Black, True Love but also Choking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 11:20:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17959508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estas_absentis/pseuds/estas_absentis
Summary: 1979: Remus has been away for the Order, Sirius welcomes him home.(My 2019 HP Kinkfest entry).





	The Rivers of Your Palms

**Author's Note:**

> Written for HP Kinkfest 2019. Shout out to [eliopeach](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eliopeach) for reading this over for me.
> 
> Track me down on [tumblr](http://majorkey.tumblr.com) if that's your thing!

**Then**

 

The coat around Remus was much too big on account of all the weight he'd recently lost. He walked through the room hovering inside his skin, feeling like both it and the jacket were things additional and external to him, as if his self were an incorporeal thing, a tiny ghost moored loosely to the flesh like another garment.

 

It got like this, when he was too long without people, isolation and silence reducing him to nothing more than a set of looping thoughts watching as the form he piloted performed a series of physical sensations, so that sometimes he would catch himself thinking of it in such detached terms as this:  _ my body is hungry _ , or,  _ I suppose it will sleep now _ .

 

The long weeks lately had been spent in near-isolation deep in the Rhondda valley, squatting in a heatless and abandoned muggle holiday cabin, the best days of which were firmly behind it. Living there had been Dumbledore's suggestion – it seemed, in fact, like nearly every idea since graduation that had led to Remus being colder and more alone had been Dumbledore's, their frequency only increasing as the vague threat of war had waxed into something full and bloody. 

 

Living out in the abandoned holiday camp had allowed Remus to lose his scent of civilisation, so that the impoverished and ragged werewolves who lived in the nearby Brecons would not be as wary of him as the colony he had previously liaised with in Cornwall. By their first transformation together he had been alone for fourteen days and going stir crazy, missing Sirius intensely. It had been suggested (again, by Dumbledore) that Remus should only owl home in case of emergency, lest anyone watching him be tipped off that he was, in fact, still participating in wizarding society, something that most werewolves these days saw as servility at best and outright betrayal at worst.

As a result of this he had spent most evenings thrumming with a cocktail of frustration, loneliness and worry – his teeth on edge with it, his mind restless, chasing his racing thoughts like a dog following its tail. Sirius, back in London, could have been in any condition – hexed to bits, hit by a car, abducted by Death Eaters: any number of scenarios, magical or mundane, swirled in Remus' imagination as he ruminated in the creaking pine shell of the cabin, slept curled in on himself fully clothed on the bedspread, dreamed of touching something other than himself.

Close to the moon the usual yearning had started, the lurching pull in his belly that had so frustrated him before he and Sirius had finally hooked up in seventh year, neither of them quite so drunk as they'd claimed to be but longing for the built-in excuse of inebriation had it not turned out as planned. Since then he'd largely had an outlet for the pre-moon arousal, the weird and nervous hum of energy in every vein and bone that only seemed momentarily to quiet through fucking or being fucked, Sirius anchoring him bodily to his humanity even as it was at its lowest ebb.

He'd allowed himself the indulgent wanking of the home alone, trapped in the mildew of the cabin, thinking only of Sirius, of home, the dimple in his left cheek, the sharp graze of his teeth against Remus' chest – by the day of the full he'd had to pull out the big guns and had come curled up in a ball on his borrowed bed, moon-wrecked joints screaming in protest and his old leather belt around his neck, the strap held tight between his teeth. Something about it felt sordid and made him miss Sirius more than ever, but by that time he’d had other things to worry about.

***

When he'd dragged his battered body back to the cabin the next day, pale and aching in the sickly pink dawn, he'd been too keyed up to sleep, his belly full of static like guitar feedback, tentatively pleased with his progress. He'd sent a patronus to the old man relating the most important points – that the as yet unaffiliated wolves had listened to him and seemed receptive, had invited him back for the next moon, where he was hoping for more solid alliances to be cemented. He'd smoked no fewer than three cigarettes down to the filter and was contemplating a fourth when the silvery phoenix had appeared and told him in Dumbledore's deceptively gentle lilt that he had done well, and may as well come home for now, if it suited him to do so.

He'd taken public transport as far as a wizarding pub in Pontypridd, from which he'd travelled by floo to meet Dumbledore in his office in order to offload his patchy memories into a pensieve and to answer a series of questions about his experiences and impressions of the wolves he'd been investigating. It always felt like a curious sort of betrayal to inveigle his way into the confidence of his fellow part-humans only to pass their information on to a man who had certainly never experienced sufficient hardship to understand them, and something about his detached pity for them insulted Remus on a deep level he could never truly put into words.

Feeling dirty and very tired, he'd allowed Poppy to check him over – nothing more serious than the usual wear and tear of the moon, although she'd clucked in disapproval at the protruding toast-rack ridges of his ribs and insisted he stay to sleep the worst off. Being in no position to argue, Remus had taken the offered shower and emerged to find a heaped plate sitting by the bed under a warming charm. In the cabin, the motivation to cook had been almost nonexistent and Remus had found himself subsisting on instant noodles and whatever else could be looted from the holiday park's deserted convenience store, and as a result he'd devoured the cooked chicken and potatoes so quickly that he'd almost been sick.

Albus had appeared not long after that and told him firmly that Sirius knew he was home and had agreed to meet him in Hogsmeade that afternoon to help him to apparate back, his magic being somewhat strained and unpredictable due to the exhaustion. He'd wanted vaguely to protest but the bed was very soft compared to the damp bunk of the cabin and the charms in the room so warm that the effect of his refusal was spoiled somewhat by his eyes literally closing themselves against his will as he spoke. Curling up in the stiff white sheets, he'd told himself drowsily that sleep was a kind of time-travel, a way to painlessly traverse the Siriusless hours, and on waking he’d had to admit that he felt much better.

Chewing a sandwich that had been sent up for him, Remus had left the castle on foot before risking a short distance apparition from just outside the grounds, arriving by the Hog's Head, their boozer of choice when in the village. James and Sirius always said it was because it was edgier than the  _ Broomsticks _ but they all knew it was because the seedy old joint had been fine with serving them underage back at school, and thus the place carried with it such a potent nostalgia that they could never move their patronage elsewhere.

Landing outside the pub and reeling somewhat from the navel-jerk of apparition Remus had treated himself to a cigarette, allowing the pleasant nervousness of being reunited with Sirius to swirl in his belly. He'd always loved anticipation – begged to open his Christmas presents as late in the day as possible as a child to prolong the waiting – and enjoyed this moment, perched on the precipice between his lonely weeks away and the subsuming, welcoming envelopment of love that lay on the other side of the door.

He'd opened it, the wood rough against his palm, the cheery burble of conversation and clinking glass emerging from the threshold.

***

**Now**

Drifting through the room, he feels his heart lurch not unpleasantly at the sight of Sirius sitting at the corner table, waiting for him. Taking the rare opportunity to watch him undetected, Remus notes with a little sting of love that Sirius is tapping his foot nervously on the table leg and pursing and unpursing his lips, sucking the plump bottom lip in between the rows of his teeth before letting it plop free over and over again. Familiar with the language of his lover's body, Remus knows this means Sirius is impatient and agitated, and it gives him a giddy to thrill to know that it's for him.

When Sirius turns his head and sees Remus, whole days dawn on his face. The elusive lopsided dimple makes an appearance as he grins unreservedly and abandons his drink, striding forward to Remus and catching his arm as he passes, making to drag him outside. He goes willingly.

When they emerge back in Hogsmeade, Remus asks “Don't want to finish your pint?”

“Better offer” says Sirius. He hasn't stopped touching Remus since he grabbed his arm, just moving his hands up and down his forearms, then up – idly skimming palms over biceps and shoulders like he can't bear to break contact. His grip tightens just above both elbows, looking solemnly into Remus' eyes as he takes on a look of concentration and the familiar crack of apparition sounds around them.

***

As soon as they're in the flat Sirius is on him, his mouth re-mapping every inch of chin, of throat, of neck. Remus is helpless in the face of it: he's being consumed, and the knowledge that Sirius is so hungry for every part of him fills his stomach with a queasy fluttering. Being the target of such focussed attention was a learning process for Remus, who at first had often felt like a butterfly pinned to a lepidopterist's board. Sirius loves with his whole heart, and his whole body, and it's often overwhelming: Remus now could not imagine life without it.

The urge to shrink away from Sirius now years behind him, Remus smiles into him, whispers “Missed you” against the shell of his ear as Sirius' rough tongue runs over the straining tendons of Remus' exposed neck. Sirius just hums into his shoulder in answer, biting a little into the tender whiteness of Remus' flesh, the tiny flickers of pain tripping switches inside Remus he'll never fully understand.

“I wanked over you like, constantly” he tells Sirius, breathily, as they settle on the couch, Sirius looming over him with one leg between Remus' parted thighs.

“Yeah? Tell me” Sirius by now has unbuttoned Remus' shirt and is mouthing his way down over the right clavicle, bruises blooming like flowers along the delicate bones of his chest. Remus' body is so full of marks and scars that the prospect of covering his skin with things he himself has chosen to allow makes his stomach swoop giddily: there they are, the physical embodiments of their love. Tangible proof that Sirius Black was here, dared to put his mouth to Remus' skin and leave, unafraid, a breadcrumb trail behind.

“The day before the moon I was – you know how I am”

“Insatiable” Sirius says, happily.

“Yeah. I just – I can't believe how many times I made myself come thinking about your mouth”

“Just my mouth?” Sirius pouts, rocking his hip against Remus' thigh, making the implicit hardness there suddenly explicit. Sirius doesn't do subtext if he can help it.

“No, obviously” Remus huffs, his voice higher than he wanted it to be. It's so funny how he's the one who's been going mad for exactly this, the one feeling flayed alive by Sirius' gaze, but he still feels so embarrassed to talk about it, even when he can feel how hard Sirius is inside his jeans. “I thought about this too” he says along an outward breath, moving one hand to cup Sirius through his trousers.

Sirius has spent enough time as Padfoot to understand the power of a well-timed 'Good boy'. He uses it now, and Remus' eyelids flutter involuntarily at the praise, the happiness and wholeness he feels on hearing it, but also the warm awkwardness that still accompanies all of these things.

“So, what else were you thinking of?” Sirius asks, a dog with a bone.

“You. Fucking me, I don't know -  _ ah _ ” Remus grunts as Sirius finally gets both their shirts off, the skin-on-skin feeling like a  _ lot  _ after so many weeks with nothing. “I thought mostly about touching you, how warm your skin feels”.

“Yeah?” says Sirius, getting both of their jeans open and stepping back momentarily to remove his own entirely. His pants go too, in one fell swoop, and Remus feels another jolt of arousal on seeing Sirius' cock, hard and ruddy, standing straight against his belly as he grins wolfishly down at Remus. Together they wrestle him out of his own clothes and now they're naked, the whole world made of skin. Nothing else is important.

“Yeah. Just before the moon I had to put my belt around my neck, imagined it was your hands.”

“That's not safe” Sirius chides in a gentle voice.

“I know. It wasn't the same either. I think it's definitely  _ you  _ doing it that I like, you know”

“And why's that?” Sirius' hand is ghosting over Remus' collarbone, his middle fingers just whispering over the throat. The touch is almost not there at all, a teasing that is bearable only because Remus knows Sirius will always give him what he wants in the end.

“I – oh – I don't know, I think because I –  _ ah  _ – I just trust you, you know?”

“That's not why” Sirius says with a cold smile, his grey eyes suddenly all business. He jerks his hips into Remus', their cocks brushing one another, not enough at all. He kisses Remus full on the mouth, slowly, his tongue darting out to lick along the line of his lips, run along the row of Remus' teeth like an investigation. His hands are on Remus' wrists, their grip loose but brimming with both promise and threat.

“Why then?” Remus almost whispers

“Cause you're a fucking slag, Remus Lupin” Sirius says, his voice thick, and it sounds like a compliment.

“Fuck, Sirius...” Remus gasps, still unable to believe he actually gets all of this.

“Red, yellow, green. Still good, right?” Sirius checks, kissing Remus almost sweetly.

“Yep. Green. Green as fuck. Please do something” Remus answers, all attempts at playing it cool now gone the way of his underwear, off to the side and no longer interfering with proceedings.

“Impatient” says Sirius, slapping him lightly on his outer thigh. “You want it so bad. I bet you were fucking gagging for it in that cabin, alone, just like... desperate for someone to come and put you out of your misery.”

“Just you” Remus manages “Just you Sirius. That's all I want...”

“But you want it so much” he says “don't you?”

As he says this he's rubbing his cock against Remus' hipbone, and so Remus can feel the beads of wetness emerging enticingly from the head. He wants everything at once – to take it into his mouth, his hands, to roll over and offer himself up for the taking. He just wants  _ Sirius _ , embarrassingly so, as desperate for him as the first time they'd done this.

“Fuck. Sirius, Yeah, I want it. Want you so much.” he chokes out, his skin literally aching for Sirius' touch. For so many years, Sirius was just this unattainable straight paragon of like... aristocratic, athletic male hotness. The idea that he even wants to fuck Remus is sometimes tricky to take at face value.

“Thought about you too” Sirius says, low and lovely, “thought about how big and black your eyes go when I do _ this _ ” he places his hands just below Remus' throat, one index finger pressing into the hollow halfway along his sternum, pupils dilating with whatever he sees in Remus' face. “How much you trust me, fuck it's – I never want to stop making you look like this.”

“Don't, then,” Remus breathes shakily.

“See?” Sirius asks affectionately, tightening his grip a little “Such a fucking slut for me, aren't you?”

“Fuck, yes, Sirius”

“There's nothing you wouldn't do”

Remus feels his body screaming out for something, anything, as Sirius takes his hand away, wordlessly willing Sirius to touch him again. Sirius leans back on his haunches before Remus and smiles down at him, his eyes more steel than silver. For a second he's perfectly still, intent – as if he's committing Remus to memory – and then he's closing the gap between them to bite Remus' bottom lip, give his cock a couple of experimental jerks before he whispers something wandless and his hand is suddenly wet.

Sirius has long preferred preparing him the muggle way – the intimacy of the stretch more romantic than a whispered charm. Remus feels the tip of Sirius' thick finger dipping below his balls and circling his rim, that excitement-discomfort cocktail brewing in his stomach. For a moment there is only the feeling of pressure, the blunt digit pushing against him, the familiar feeling of being on the precipice of something terrifying.

Being breached in any way at all feels almost like waking up, like being pulled back into his body after weeks of drifting, and Remus looks up at Sirius wonderingly as his finger slowly pushes through the burning stretch of muscle. There's something frighteningly intimate about this, Sirius' eyes on his as he works his finger in and out, about the knowledge that Sirius is  _ literally _ inside his body. His whole life he'd thought he would be in there alone, the sole occupant of a haunted house, until Sirius had moved in and thrown open all the windows.

The slap is sudden, jolts Remus out of his thoughts – Sirius' big, flat palm colliding sharply with his jaw, fingers in the fleshy part of his cheek, there for a second and gone, a sharp flash of pain leaving behind a stinging ache that feels like an amplification of the more general aching of his whole body, like the yearning roiling in his gut made flesh. Involuntarily he sucks in a ragged breath and pushes down onto Sirius' fingers – two now – at the sensation, and Sirius leans in and kisses along the warm ghost of his own handprint, says quietly into Remus' skin “You were away somewhere. Stop thinking, stay  _ here _ ”.

There's nothing particularly menacing about his voice but there is a gentle firmness that never fails to tug at something low in Remus' gut, a tone he's honed over all the months they've had this thing between them. Without warning, Sirius slides his fingers free of Remus' body, pushes away from the sofa. Remus' face must look as bereft as he feels at the sudden loss of contact, as Sirius smiles and reaches down to help him up, telling him “I don't want to do this here. It's been weeks since I had you in my bed”.

Of course, it's  _ their _ bed really, by now, but something about the possessive pronoun feels darkly sexy, swirls up all kinds of ideas about  _ ownership _ and  _ belonging _ that Remus very much appreciates. He allows himself to be steered towards the bedroom, Sirius' hand on the nape of his neck, nudging gently like he's giving directions with his fingers. When they cross the threshold Remus leans back into the touch a little and sees Sirius smile as he does so. Sirius backs him against the wall, its coldness against his bare flesh eliciting another small, involuntary gasp. Sirius' hands are roaming again, running over his chest and down to his thighs, scraping pale pink ribbons into his skin with his short, neat fingernails, just the right amount of pressure to  _ feel  _ without properly hurting. As he does this, his mouth moves along Remus' neck, forcing him to turn his head to the side a little, taking the delicate flesh of his earlobe between his teeth.

Sirius' breath is warm against his ear and sends a shiver rippling down his spine, the sharp edges of his front teeth pressing down, a sharp bright point of pain in the tender skin suspended between them. Remus whimpers a little and immediately blushes, and Sirius releases his lobe, following up with gentle kiss to his stinging skin, like a sweet but insincere apology.

“You're so fucking cute” Sirius says, his hand skimming Remus' chest, increasing the pressure as he scrapes down over one nipple and presses his hips forward, hard cock pushing against Remus' hip. “You still get so embarrassed about this” he kisses Remus' burning cheeks “It's just. I fucking love it, Remus” his voice is so low and  _ admiring _ that Remus' breath catches on the way out and ends up being something close to a moan. 

Sirius trails his fingers down Remus' arms, encircling both wrists and squeezing once before he pulls him away from the wall and over to their bed. They sit on the edge for a second kissing, Sirius' hand cupping his jaw as he bites Remus' bottom lip, before a sure hand pushes against Remus' chest and pushes him flat on his back. Sirius sits over him, one leg between his parted thighs, the lengths of his hair tickling when he leans down to take one nipple between his teeth for a second, the sharp spark of a bite flaring for a second, replaced by the cold wetness of Sirius' saliva when he moves his mouth away again. His slick fingers are rubbing teasingly over Remus' hole, never quite penetrating even when Remus groans and tries to wriggle down onto them.

“Tell me what you want” Sirius says, amusement in his voice.

“Sirius”

Sirius' free hand runs the length of Remus' jaw and he tips his head, leans into it like a cat, out of his mind with all this  _ almost-there _ , all of this  _ nearly _ -

“Tell me” and he's definitely teasing him now, knows how excruciating Remus finds having to voice his desires. He'd rather legilimency, guesswork, even the invasive unfightable pull of veritaserum. Remus whines, pushing his hips in an attempt to brush his cock against Sirius' forearm where it reaches down over his body, fingers still circling frustratingly. He knows how flushed his cheeks must be, they  _ feel _ on fire with it, and Sirius huffs a little laugh through his nose before the hand stroking Remus' jaw pulls back and lands just beneath his cheekbone in another measured slap. The sharp, flat impact makes a satisfying cracking noise and Remus whines again, flicks his eyes pleadingly to meet Sirius', dark and hungry above him.

“If you won't ask, I won't give it to you” he says roughly, smirking a bit as Remus pulls in a shuddering breath and nods minutely.

“I want you to, to...” his voice sounds so shaky, even to his own ears

“To do what, love?” Sirius encourages coaxingly, stilling the motion of his fingers, just pressing them against Remus, almost,  _ almost  _ pushing in. Not quite.

“I want you to fuck me. Erm. With your fingers first, and then your...” Remus simultaneously wants the ground to open up and swallow him, and to never ever leave this bed again.

“With my what, Remus?” Sirius asks, and his voice is just this side of singsong, sternly playful.

“With your cock. Fuck. I want you inside me, want you to fuck me, please,  _ Sirius _ do something!” he says all in a rush, and Sirius smiles, sudden and sunny, somehow inappropriate given their current context.

“Well done” he breathes, none of the mocking tone present in his voice, as he pushes two fingers into Remus again, slow and searching, crooking them to find the exact angle he wants. When Remus makes a humiliating, yelping noise he grins with all his teeth and pulls almost all the way out, pushing back harder than before. Remus' breath is coming in ragged gasps and he hopes he won't have to speak for a bit, feels awash with feeling after the extended, teasing withholding. When Sirius adds a third, he holds his breath for a second, the stretch uncomfortable until Sirius' hand pivots again to that angle and drives forward. Remus has his head thrown back, arching his back into the touch. He wants to close his eyes and focus on the sensation, but also to watch Sirius watching him, to see the reverence and heat in his gaze as he watches his fingers disappear into Remus' body, sees him writhing and wrecked.

Sirius' voice sounds very loud against the quiet in the room, the only sounds being their heavy breathing, the tiny moans Remus can no longer suppress on every other outward breath, the embarrassing, stupidly hot wet noises of Sirius' fingers in Remus' body. “You ready?” he asks, and Remus answers almost before he's done, a simple “Yes!” so emphatic that Sirius gasps out a little laugh and Remus feels needy, desperate for it. Sirius extracts his fingers carefully, leaving behind him an empty aching. He runs his lube-slick fingers over himself – his eyes flutter closed for a second as he does so – and he leans down to kiss Remus, a gentle, lips-closed press against his mouth. “Told you you were a slag, didn't I?” he asks affectionately, and Remus just nods, stammers out something pleading and incoherent, a garbled litany of wanting, insensible with need.

Sirius reaches behind Remus, rearranging the pillows – Remus leans his head forward obediently to let him – so that he's supported, half-sitting. He pulls his legs further towards his body, Sirius kneeling between them. Sirius lines himself up – Remus feels the wet head of his cock pushing against him for a second before the burning stretch begins. Sirius' arms shake a little on either side of Remus' torso with the effort of going slowly, and when he bottoms out he stills for a second, breathing deeply through his nose. Remus raises one hand to gently touch Sirius' cheek and Sirius smiles, turning to brush his lips against his fingers. “Love you” he mumbles against them, and Remus moves his hand around to the back of Sirius' neck, not pulling or pushing, just  _ suggesting _ , and Sirius leans down to kiss him full on the lips, starting to move his hips as he does.

When they break the kiss they keep their faces close together, Sirius' heavy breathing matching his own, Remus moaning brokenly up into his mouth as Sirius fucks him in earnest, pushing him down into the mattress, the whole world reduced to their bodies together, temporarily almost the same, a feedback loop of giving and taking and feeling. Being gone was almost worth it to come back to this, colour and warmth flooding back into the hollowed-out greyness of the world as Sirius finally,  _ finally _ gets his hands around Remus' neck.

At first he doesn't exert any pressure, just rests them there, snug and reassuring, his long thumbs rubbing gently on either side of Remus' Adam's apple. Remus feels his stomach turn over, a giddy adrenaline rush in his belly at the mere implication of their presence. The first time they'd done this Sirius had been nervous, but over time they've got it down to a fine art – Remus can't think of any hands his life would be safer in than Sirius’, and doing this feels incredible, like handing over the keys to his body.

Sirius kisses his lips again, quietly says “Remember – if you can't talk, tap my shoulder, okay?”, and  _ presses. _ Everything sharpens – Remus focuses first on the individual pressure of each of Sirius' ten fingers, their weight and warmth, the callused elegance of the thumbs at his throat. Hands for playing piano, for breaking curses, strong and large without being ungainly. Hands for living between.

Remus feels lightheaded, his eyelids fluttering, Sirius' hands on his neck and Sirius' cock inside him, and he feels surrounded and subsumed, completely enveloped in Sirius, as if if they're no longer separate entities at all. Sirius releases the pressure for a moment, lifting his thumbs, and Remus takes a shaking gulp of air before they're back again. Sirius leans down close, their lips almost touching, and Remus realises with a rush that Sirius is feeling Remus' breathing, laboured by the obstruction, occasionally rushing when Sirius flicks his thumbs upwards for a second. Every breath in his body belongs to Sirius, all the air in his lungs there because Sirius has specifically allowed it. In this way his life is Sirius' life, every screaming cell of his body something new and holy and full of his love.

It's Sirius' love that he's sucking into his lungs and it's Sirius' love that's slamming into his body, and when Sirius takes one hand away from his throat and spreads his long fingers to cover it with just one, it's Sirius love that takes his straining cock roughly in its grip and pulls him to orgasm, which rattles through his body like a shock of white light, brighter and brighter until almost unbearable and then diffusing warmly out through the rest of his body.

Sirius is still moving in him, his breath coming noisy and ragged, letting out the growling little grunts he always makes when he’s getting close. He’s moved his hands from Remus’ neck now, cupping his jaw in one hot palm, pushing his face down to the side, forcing Remus to gasp hotly into the pillow as he runs his hands down Sirius’ sweat-slick back to cup his arse. He feels all of the muscles flexing under his fingers as he gives an encouraging squeeze, pulls Sirius even further inside of him as he comes with a strangled sort of shout, pulsing wetly inside Remus and leaning to lay heavy against his chest for a moment before he pulls out gently and slides to lay facing him in the dampness of their bed.

Sirius is kissing his neck, smoothing gently over the memory of his fingers. He feels Sirius’ come starting to run out and down his thighs, and knows he’ll have to do something about it soon, but it’s not urgent. He pokes one finger into the dimple on Sirius’ cheek, just because he can, and grins into his boyfriend’s mouth, drunk on togetherness, on sex, on the richness of this thing they have between them. The way he feels for Sirius is like a physical thing, a love so big it leaves his body and hovers around them, envelops them in its fluid warmth. Soon they’ll roll over, get cleaned up, start squabbling over whose turn it is to roll the ceremonial post-coital cigarette - all of the tiny rituals that are part of the love as much as the fucking is - but right now Remus closes his eyes, kisses Sirius hard, pretends he can let himself drown in it. 


End file.
